


so it goes

by curiouslyfic



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-28
Updated: 2012-08-28
Packaged: 2017-11-13 01:43:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiouslyfic/pseuds/curiouslyfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 16 months to get them here, to this exact moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	so it goes

**Author's Note:**

> This bit of shameless Steve/Clint fluff beta'd and vastly improved by [kinky_kneazle](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kinky_kneazle).

It’s not sudden with Steve, but Clint thinks maybe it shouldn’t be. 

It’s six months of teasing and missions and learning to trust each other as teammates and friends, mocking Tony’s movie choices and trolling with Thor, figuring out how to be themselves with the whole world watching. It’s another four months dancing around each other, watching each other silently and _wondering_ , stepping carefully through conversations, feeling each other out, always so intensely aware that letting anyone else in could end badly. 

Could wreck what they have _now, a home and a family and work that matters, none of which either one of them’s likely to risk easily._

It’s falling into each other anyway and not realizing they have, that moment of realization that despite his best efforts, Clint’s gone and gotten himself _attached_ , that Steve’s going to be one of those people Clint remembers his whole life and that nothing either of them say or do from here on in is going to make Steve any less important. It’s the panic that follows, the kneejerk restlessness that says Clint needs to move _now_ before it gets worse, the string of mental reminders this absolutely can’t end the way Clint wants; these things never do. 

It’s seeing a year of knowing each other in hindsight and finding out that whatever this is, it’s not nearly as recent as Clint wants to think, that it’s been there somehow almost from the beginning and that time’s just made it visible. 

It’s Clint dragging Steve to Pride dressed in short shorts and rainbows, promising he’ll be 19 different fetishes, straight or not. It’s letting Steve drag him to art galleries and museums and baseball games, giving Steve the free time Clint’s guarded zealously his whole life. It’s pulling strings to extend a routine call to L.A. so Steve can watch his Dodgers in action at “home” and letting Steve bitch about how wrong it is for the whole game, laughing when Steve gets his snark on and sympathizing when they lose. 

It’s knowing Steve gets his snark on more than most people acknowledge and knowing how much Steve likes when Clint notices. It’s letting Steve pose him and holding that pose while Steve draws him for some night class assignment, ignoring Tony’s inevitable _Titanic_ jokes and Steve’s flustered explanations. 

It’s finding a suit and wearing it presentably for Steve’s class showing, seeing himself in neat lines and bright colors, wondering if Steve knows what that look he’s drawn means. 

It’s hearing Steve talk about the “good old days” and wishing he’d been there to see them, trying to picture Steve as he’d been fighting bullies in Brooklyn, getting his ass kicked regularly and not giving up. It’s finally seeing a well-guarded picture and wanting to touch, because Steve looks every bit as stubborn, every bit as steady; Clint wants to protect him, sure, but Clint wants that anyway. 

The serum’s not really a factor. He has a terrible time getting that through to Steve. 

It’s finding Steve on the rough nights, sitting in silence in the dark trying to clear his head, letting Steve in a little more every time. It’s — eventually — talking about Bucky and Barney and situational ethics, bad years and good moments, swapping stories about boot camp and the public performance circuit, embarrassing costumes and gruelling schedules and what had kept them there anyway. 

It’s figuring out Steve means more than Natasha, that Steve’s who he misses most when he’s off on a solo assignment and that it’s Steve he thinks of when things clusterfuck. It’s waking up in S.H.I.E.L.D. medical knowing Steve will be there and letting Steve talk him into playing nice with the doctors keeping him under observation. 

It’s the careful way Steve wraps his arms around Clint and the way Steve gets touchy when Clint takes “stupid risks”, realizing he’s only stopped jumping off buildings because he knows how much Steve hates when he does. It’s knowing Steve worries and fighting to wrap his head around the idea that Clint’s anything much to worry _about_ , because he hasn’t been. 

It’s seeing the same things in Steve’s face Steve drew in his. It’s sitting beside Steve on team movie night and feeling Steve’s tight control, catching Steve sneaking glances at him anyway, smiling helplessly at each other when their eyes meet. 

It’s feeling like some kind of chick flick heroine when he talks to Natasha, letting her accuse him of mooning and pining and dragging his feet, knowing she’s not as wrong as he’d like to think. 

It’s Steve threatening to court him properly with that little Boy Scout smirk and knowing Steve’s only trolling about the _how_. It’s threatening to swoon and join the Captain America fan club officially if Steve brings him flowers, just to make Steve laugh in shock. 

It’s letting Steve hold on too tight and too long when Clint gets called out for a mission, promising quietly he’ll be careful this time, that he’ll be home soon to pick up right where they’ve left off, first dance and first date and all those _firsts_ they’re postponing because AIM’s timing sucks. 

It’s 16 months to get them here, to this exact moment, alone in Steve’s room with all those firsts ahead of them, anticipation chewing Clint up from the inside. 

It shouldn’t be possible but Steve looks worse, flustered and awkward when he never is, stumbling over his words until Clint says his name. 

“Sorry,” Steve says. “I’m not really good at this.” 

“Couldn’t prove it by me.” God, Steve looks good. He’s dressed in pressed khakis and a button-up and he smells like Old Spice and hair gel; he’s dressed up for _Clint_ even though they’re not going anywhere. Clint adds that to his list of reasons Steve is worth beating back the panic. Then, because Steve’s frowning and he shouldn’t be, Clint says, “For what it’s worth, I’m bad at this, too.” 

Steve’s frown deepens. “You don’t have to lie to me, Clint. I know I’m not great with…this, but I’m trying.” 

“You don’t have to try,” Clint says and means it. Steve’s enough — more than — just as he is; if he gets awkward or flustered or unsure, Clint’s not going to mind. “I’m good with you just being here.”  
Steve breathes out his relief. “I can do that.” 

So this thing with Steve, it’s not sudden or white-hot from the beginning, all scorching looks and pinning each other against flat surfaces at every possible opportunity, but it’s real and it’s steady, not flaming out early like every other time Clint’s tried to stay attached to someone. Instead it’s 16 months of slow-burn kindling under Clint’s skin before it ignites, a first kiss Clint breaks by smiling, Steve’s hands hot and broad on Clint’s back, Steve’s face as flushed as Clint’s feels when they pull back to breathe. 

And when Steve finally walks Clint back to his bedroom, when Clint falls back on Steve’s bed breathless and eager, he finds himself lying beside a single red rose and his Official Cap fan club membership package; Clint’s still laughing when he drags Steve down, Steve's grin promising silently that this is just the beginning. 

~f~


End file.
